


Tales from a Mexican Honeymoon

by Wellamyblake



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, General Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wellamyblake/pseuds/Wellamyblake
Summary: “How was your day?” She asks, and can’t help the ironic lift of her eyebrow when she does. The domestic line belies their situation, and it’s probably a stupid question, anyway. Every day on this endless, directionless, winding road of bank hits and denial is the same. But tonight almost feels different. Maybe it’s just the flickering of the fluorescent motel lights, but there seems to be more life in Seth’s eyes than there’d been since he stumbled out of that temple.
A series of drabbles from Seth and Kate's Mexican Honeymoon. Pre-S2.





	1. Rattlesnake

**Author's Note:**

> So I have fallen into the Sethkate Dumpster and cannot get out. I'm pissed that S2 skipped over 3 months of relationship development so this is me doing my part to answer: what really happened on Sethkate's Mexican Honeymoon? The drabbles are in no particular chronological order. You'll probably be able to piece together a timeline eventually. Enjoy ;)

One night, Seth returns to the motel room with a brown paper bag. Kate doesn’t know where he’s been all day - she doesn’t normally ask if he doesn’t offer. He’s been even moodier than usual since their last job, which had yielded less than they’d hoped, and Kate thought it was just a matter of time before he came home high again. He thinks she doesn’t know about his extracurricular activities, but she’s spent enough time volunteering with her parish at free clinics to know what it looks like when somebody’s blissed out on opiates.

Tonight’s different though. Seth looks clear-headed and meets her eyes when he sits down across the small, rickety motel table from her. She shuts her “bible;” she’s spent enough time ruminating over sketches of snake men and goddesses today.

“How was your day?” She asks, and can’t help the ironic lift of her eyebrow when she does. The domestic line belies their situation, and it’s probably a stupid question, anyway. Every day on this endless, directionless, winding road of bank hits and denial is the same. But tonight almost feels different. Maybe it’s just the flickering of the fluorescent motel lights, but there seems to be more life in Seth’s eyes than there’d been since he stumbled out of that temple.

He returns her smirk. “Just another day in paradise, princess.” She rolls her eyes at the nickname. She remembers the first time he’d used it, in the midst of kidnapping her family. It feels like somebody else’s life.

Seth reaches into the paper bag and pulls out a medium-sized bottle of golden liquid. “I figured we could both use a drink.”

She wordlessly accepts one of the two shots he pours. They throw them back simultaneously. She only sputters a little at the burn in her throat, having been prepared for it this time.

She glances at the bottle as he pours two more shots.

“‘Rattlesnake Tequila?’ Really?”

When he looks up at her, the irony in his eyes is only a little forced. 

“Well, when in Rome…”

They throw back another shot. Then another. They drink until the gold of the tequila no longer colors in the eyes of the snake printed on the bottle, until its slitted eyes are as empty as her father’s were when she killed him. When she tries to shake off that thought, she’s overcome by a swimming feeling in her head that she’s never felt before. She looks across the table at Seth, who is gazing at her pensively. 

They stare at each other for a moment, but it’s not the tension-filled stare that she’s familiar with, or the guilty stare, or the defiant standoff stare, or even the soft stare that they share sometimes, though never for more than a moment. It’s one of confusion on her part and humor on his and she doesn’t realize until Seth starts laughing - actually laughing - that he’s drunk. And so is she.

Seth’s laugh is so infectious it pulls a smile to her face. “Are we drunk?” she asks incredulously, which just causes Seth to laugh harder, and suddenly she can’t stop her own chuckle.

“Quite an observation there, Sherlock,” Seth replies, eyes still alight with amusement. “Preacher’s daughter never been drunk, huh?”

Kate still can’t believe her own incredulity. She’s consumed at least a quarter of a bottle of tequila - of course she’s drunk. After human sacrifices and culebras she really shouldn’t be shocked by her own body reacting to alcohol. Her surprise is ridiculous enough to make her laugh again. 

“No. I mean, tongue hockey in the last pew is one thing, but they didn’t exactly hand out,” she gestures towards the mostly empty bottle, “‘Rattlesnake Gold’ at the chapel on Sundays.”

Seth lost it at “tongue hockey” - his mouth opening, head tilting back and eyes closing with an almost grateful laugh, like he knew that if he wasn’t laughing he’d be crying. The sheer ridiculousness of their scenario forces Kate to join him, until they’re doubled over the table, bottle of hooch forgotten.

Eventually, they both catch their breath, but Kate doesn’t want this moment of mirth to pass. She can already feel the oppressive weight of their situation, of everything they’ve lost, seeping back in. She looks to Seth for a distraction but the lightness has already left his eyes. She doesn’t even need to ask what he’s thinking about. The last time they’d sat around a table, thrown back shots, they’d been surrounded by people they’ve now lost, and they’d lived in a world that was less magical, less dangerous. Their small motel table suddenly feels empty and Seth, his forearm just inches from her fingers, feels a million miles away. 

It’s not long before he stands up and goes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and stare judgmentally at himself in the mirror - his nightly ritual. The soreness in her cheeks is Kate’s only reminder of the light moment that has now fled, and she doesn’t have the energy to do anything more then crawl under the covers of her bed, still in her jeans. The swimming in her head is now more annoying than pleasant. 

When Seth shuts off the light, it’s impossible to see anything in the room besides the gleam of the tequila bottle refracting the street light peaking through the shades. The liquor makes Kate dizzy and peels back the layers of her loneliness until she’s suddenly struck by the desire to say something. Normally Seth and Kate fall asleep in silence, each pretending they’re out when they hit the pillow but both knowing that these days, sleep is much harder to come by. Most nights, she’s content to drift off to the oddly comforting sound of Seth’s heavy breathing. Tonight it doesn’t feel like quite enough. 

Ultimately, she’ll blame it on the tequila that she whispers into the darkness, “’Night, Seth. Thank you.”

She can sense, rather than hear, his surprise at her words. He pauses for so long that the tequila has nearly taken its final soporific effect when she hears, “Goodnight, Kate.”

In the morning, her pounding headache pushes out the memory of his soft words.


	2. Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are always different when they’re planning a job. When Seth has a purpose, he gets that gleam in his eye and it feels less like Kate is living with a zombie. When they find a new mark, all the spare surfaces of their current motel room become home to recon - photos, maps, schedules, any information they can glean by casing a place. Even the tube and needle in that god-forsaken pouch get buried and forgotten, sometimes for weeks at a time. Those are the times Kate likes best, when she can get caught up in Seth caught up in planning a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you that let me know you liked part one! I always like hearing your reactions :) <3

Things are always different when they’re planning a job. When Seth has a purpose, he gets that gleam in his eye and it feels less like Kate is living with a zombie. When they find a new mark, all the spare surfaces of their current motel room become home to recon - photos, maps, schedules, any information they can glean by casing a place. Even the tube and needle in that god-forsaken pouch get buried and forgotten, sometimes for weeks at a time. Those are the times Kate likes best, when she can get caught up in Seth caught up in planning a job.

Seth, unsurprisingly, thinks aloud. He always seems to need another person to bounce ideas off of. She knows it’s usually Richie listening, but she tries her best not to let Seth notice his absence, not to let any awkward silences linger too long. She thinks she does a good job, constantly asking questions, poking holes in his ideas. After about a month, she knows enough about the basics of pulling a job that she thinks sometimes Seth forgets that he’s really doing this alone. That Richie isn’t there. 

Needless to say, it doesn’t always work. Kate still understands less than half the movie references he makes, and it’s extremely clear she’s not Richie when Seth gets hung up on a logistical problem. Like he is now.

“But there’s not enough time to get to the car if I have to collect the cash from three separate fucking vaults! Goddamn paranoid check-cashers…” He’s pacing the small motel room staring down at the notes they’d taken when they cased the small cashing checkpoint today. Kate watches him from where she sits cross-legged on the end of her bed.

“It’s almost like they think they’ll get robbed.” He shoots her an unimpressed look before turning his attention back to the timetable they’d sketched out. She knows when he gets like this it isn’t much use to respond to him - he’s mostly talking to himself. Not that that usually stops Kate.

“If you parked the car closer to the entrance you wouldn’t have to sprint that extra 30 meters in the open air. And you’d save time,” she offers.

He doesn’t even look up when he shoots back, “Oh, sure. And give everyone in that place a front row seat to my make, model, and license plate number? No thanks.”

“Well maybe if someone _had_ had eyes on the Corvette while you held up some poor woman at gunpoint we would still _have_ it.” She cocks her head, waiting for his response.

He has the sense to look a tiny bit ashamed when he shoots her a look but still sounds defensive when he says, “I told you, that model is notoriously easy to lift…”

She rolls her eyes. “So you’re saying that grabbing the cash and subduing all the employees is going to break our 9 minute window?” She doesn’t know exactly why that’s always the window Seth sticks to for these smash-and-grab type jobs, but the only answer she’s gotten to that question is “nothing good happens after 9 minutes.”

He’s back to looking at the sheet of paper. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Then let me drive.” 

His head whips up. “What?”

“You don’t want them to get a look at the car, and running to where you’ve stashed it pushes the timetable, so why not let me pick you up?” He’s already shaking his head when she finishes.

“That’s not how this works, Kate.” He seems to think that that closes the matter. He’s wrong though, and she’s getting tired of his condescension.

“Oh, it’s not? How _does_ this work? You pulling more and more dangerous jobs on your own until you get caught? You miss prison, is that it? You think maybe it’s easier to get your hands on your heroin in there? Is that what you want?” She’s a little surprised by her outburst, but she schools her features into defiance. Seth, on the other hand, looks like he’s been slapped across the face. Not angry, more like he’s been laid bare. Good. It’s time Seth started dealing in reality.

“Kate, this isn’t a goddamn PTA meeting. It’s aiding and abetting armed robbery. You didn’t sign up for this.” He looks kind of desperate now, but Kate doesn’t feel sorry for him.

“I didn’t sign up for me and my family to be taken hostage on a family vacation either.” She sees the blow land before she continues, “Or to lose my brother and my father. I didn’t ask for a lot of things, Seth. But I chose to leave that place with you. I chose to be here. So if you won’t let me help, what the hell am I doing here?”

They stare at each other a moment. She can’t be sure, but she thinks she’s gotten through to him. As much as he’s so often an open book to her, she rarely can get a read on how he feels about _her_. He seems to constantly walk the line between guilt and protectiveness, resentment and affection when it comes to her. It makes her want to shake him. To make him deal with the reality of _her_ , the person standing in front of him, and not his tangled feelings about the past. Their shared past, of lost brothers and lost purpose.

She only has to wait a moment before he gives in. “Okay.” He’s looking at her like he’s really seeing her, and it’s her favorite look on him, as rare as it is. “You want to pull your weight?” There’s respect in his eyes when he says, “You got it.”

She nods once, hoping her relief and surprise don’t show on her face. Going toe-to-toe with Seth Gecko is an intimidating prospect, even in his current emotional state, but every day it becomes easier to speak her mind. Every day she grows more comfortable in his presence. More confident in her ability to meet him eye-to-eye, cutting remark for cutting remark. She thinks she probably shouldn’t feel so proud to match wits with her former kidnapper, thinks there’s probably something inherently fucked up in their dynamic. Then again, she’s taken to grading “fucked up” on a curve.

Seth’s begun talking again, but he’s talking _to_ her now, explaining the timing of the getaway, how best to angle the car relative to the storefront, how to watch for his signal. She leans in, letting his manic energy infect her and more ready than she should be to aid and abet her first felony.


	3. Let's Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It becomes a part of their routine. There are new motels, new marks, and new cars, but every night before bed Kate prays and Seth cleans his guns. It’s the only comforting part of this mess, Seth thinks. The never-ending dank motel rooms and seedy towns and half-assed heists leave him feeling empty, like he wants to escape and that small yellow needle is the only way he can. But right before bed, with cold steel in his hands and her silhouette in his peripheral vision, he feels some semblance of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been forgetting to mention my lovely beta/muse/motivator/wife Jade without whom you lovely people would not be reading these! So shout out to you @LaughingSenselessy/@wellsjahasghost <3
> 
> This one's a tiny bit longer folks. Strap in and enjoy :)

The first time he catches her doing it, it’s been two weeks since the Titty Twister, and she’s startled. Seth exits the dirty motel bathroom drying his hair with a towel and she’s just sitting there on the bed, hands clasped, eyes closed, with a look of concentration on her face.

“What are you doing?” He interrupts her with his usual grace. “Kate?” She nearly topples off the bed in surprise when she registers his voice.

“Nothing,” she responds, scrambling off her bed and turning to straighten her sheets. The pink rising in her cheeks betrays her lie.

“Were you _praying_?” Seth wants to be incredulous. He wants to ask her how the hell she can believe in a God after everything they’ve seen. He wants to hate her naivete, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

She doesn’t answer him, no doubt expecting his scorn, and he feels a little bad for his sharp tone.

“You can, you know.” 

She pauses in her relentless fluffing of the pillows, her back still to him. 

“I mean, if you can get someone up there to listen, we sure as shit could use the help.”

She turns back to him, sitting on the edge of her bed. The earnest look on her face is disarming. “It’s just something I’ve always done, every night before bed. I don’t even know if anyone’s listening anymore I just - I can’t imagine not doing it.” 

“I get it,” he responds tersely. He thinks about how, as a kid, he drifted to sleep every night talking at Richie. Maybe he would’ve turned to God too, if he were alone. He almost snorts at the thought. Respecting higher powers had never done much for him. But he does respect rituals.

“Do what you gotta do. Just, keep your mojo on your side of the room. Unless God wants to help me clean this 9 mill.” He gestures to the handgun on his bed. Kate nods and, tentatively, situates herself back on the bed and bows her head. 

Seth watches her for a moment, a bit in awe ( _a bit jealous_ , a voice inside him says) that this girl can just close her eyes and believe she is in the presence of God. Sometimes Seth thinks if he stops moving or talking or shooting for more than a minute he’ll implode, especially after everything that’s happened. He marvels at the strength it must take to be alone with your own thoughts, without a needle to ease the pain. Shaking that last image from his brain, he sits on his bed and begins the methodical process of cleaning his weapons, the sound of his father’s stopwatch as he slides the guns’ components back together only barely registering in the back of his mind.

***

It becomes a part of their routine. There are new motels, new marks, and new cars, but every night before bed Kate prays and Seth cleans his guns. It’s the only comforting part of this mess, Seth thinks. The never-ending dank motel rooms and seedy towns and half-assed heists leave him feeling empty, like he wants to escape and that small yellow needle is the only way he can. But right before bed, with cold steel in his hands and her silhouette in his peripheral vision, he feels some semblance of peace.

Seth had always thought of praying as a way weak-willed people asked for things to go their way, but Kate prays with this kind of determined concentration that reminds Seth of Richie when he’s trying to pop a box; her face is still but strained like Richie’s when he’s listening for that tiny “click” of the lock. Praying seems like an active thing when she does it, and he thinks it’s fitting: a calm exterior masking determination within. It’s just like Kate: a soft surface hiding the steel beneath.

He begins to time his weapons maintenance to her prayer so they finish their rituals together. On some nights, though, Kate opens her eyes quicker than usual, with a look like God is exhausting her, and she joins him in cleaning the guns. He's a little surprised the first time, but she simply asks, "Do you need help?" And even though he doesn't, really, he still hands her the barrel brush and teaches her how to dismantle, wipe down, and reassemble a weapon. He ignores the guilty feeling in his gut the first time he sees her deftly load and roll a six-shooter.

Ultimately, it’s a routine that works for them, whether it’s the night before a job or they’ve been shot at that very day. Really, Seth thinks one night, looking at her tense posture and kneaded eyebrows, her praying and his cleaning aren’t so different. From what he can gather, her praying is more chore than rejuvenation. He wonders if it feels as paradoxically useless and necessary as his compulsive need to take apart and reassemble his hand guns every night. He wonders if she hears the equivalent of his father’s stopwatch in her ears.

***

The night Kate leaves him, Seth thinks about praying. 

He returns to their motel room in the dark and looks away from her clothes piled on her bed, reminders of a space she used to fill. His hands itch for a needle but her words keep ringing in his ears: _No wonder he left you. Who would want to work with you? You want to shoot yourself up with some more heroin? Pathetic…_

He slams his hand against the side table, over and over, swiping the cheap lamp and plastic alarm clock off it with such force they fly across the room. He’s seized with the urge to break a window with her stupid Bible or - better yet - put his head through the glass. He wants to stop hearing her voice, the second person who’s left him. He wants to hate them, her and Richie, for leaving him. He wants the tiny voice in his head that tells him that it’s really _his_ fault - that _he_ was the one that gave up on _them_ \- to _shut up_. 

On instinct, Seth grabs Kate’s Bible off her bed. Until he touches it, he isn’t quite sure whether he was planning to throw it or desperately try to grasp some part of the peace that they say praying gives to believers. But when the Bible falls open in his hands, he sees it’s not filled with scripture at all. Covering the pages instead are symbols and pictures, the same ones that haunt his nightmares of fangs in his neck and blood splatter on the walls of a temple covered in similar markings.

He sinks down onto his bed with the Bible in hand. _This_ is what she’d kept close to her this whole time. She’d been drawing these symbols, holding on to this world he so desperately hated the whole time they’d been together. 

The realization drains him. He suddenly doesn’t have the energy to fight his own despair. He wants to escape the pain and betrayal that are dwarfed only by his own suffocating guilt. Almost of its own accord, his hand reaches for the leather pouch in the drawer. Maybe this time, it will actually help. Maybe this time he’ll escape.

The last thought he has after he clumsily depresses the syringe into his arm is that he wished Kate were there, if only because she always found a way into his veins.

***

Seth Gecko knows God doesn’t exist. 

That belief was confirmed after he’d faced about the third demon from Hell, but in his heart he knew that he’d rejected the existence of God the moment Richie told him Kate was dead. No God could let something so terrible happen to someone so good. So after everything, the last place Seth Gecko expected to be is sitting on a motel bed next to the one person who had both forced him to entertain the possibility of a God and whose loss had dashed any semblance of faith he had.

A month after they had successfully killed Amaru and avoided Hell on Earth, Seth once again found himself alone in a motel room at dusk with Kate Fuller. She had accompanied him, Richie, and Scott when they had set out to investigate reports of lingering Hell beasts tormenting the locals in the New Mexican town where they had finally defeated Amaru. Tonight, Scott and Richie were out trolling the local bars for demons after Seth had taken the day shift. 

When Seth had returned to the motel room, he’d headed immediately for the shower. He wanted to avoid the awkwardness he knew would come once Scott and Richie stopped bickering long enough to leave for patrol and he was left alone with Kate.

After Amaru had fled Kate’s body and Seth had held her as she returned to himself, he could hardly bear to look at her. Because, in that moment of pure relief and hope and happiness at getting her _back_ , all of his guilt had come rushing back in. Everything that happened to her - all of it - had been his fault. 

So he had let Scott pull her out of his arms and over the past month had barely spoken five words to her alone. If she noticed or cared she hadn’t said anything, though he knew she was still consumed with her own, perhaps now less literal, demons. It seemed they were always surrounded by a crowd anyway, as the remaining Culebra hierarchy had hailed them the saviors of their race.

But now that the aftermath of the ordeal has calmed, Seth finds himself struggling to adjust to the new normal, especially when it comes to Kate. The fact was that she was going to stay wherever her brother was, and Scott is firmly a part of Seth and Richie’s team now. He’d never admit it, but Richie has a grudging affection for the boy and he seems happy to have Kate around, too. 

Seth, on the other hand, feels like he’s drowning in his inability to cope with Kate’s return. Her presence is at once familiar and jarring. Sometimes he feels like he’s on the run again, can feel poison coursing through his veins once more; other times, her voice in the room or her shadow on the wall feels more right than he cares to admit.

When Seth can no longer hide in the bathroom, he opens the door, wondering what her presence will feel like tonight. She’s sitting on her bed when he sees her, and he has a weird flash of deja vu to the time he caught her praying when they were first together. It feels like a million years ago.

She’s clearly not praying now, though, her eyes empty and staring straight ahead, the manuscript in front of her forgotten. The haunted look is a common one for her now, and something about it makes Seth’s insides twist.

Not wanting to disturb her, Seth starts picking up the mess they’ve made of the room, piling weapons and excess bullets in proper piles, straightening stacks of stakes, and performing other largely useless activities that keep him distracted from the girl sitting under the covers feet away.

“Will you stop pacing?” Her voice startles him. He wonders if it’s his imagination or it’s actually deeper than it used to be. He wonders if it’s a consequence of age or Amaru. Kate continues to stare at him rebukingly as she rubs her temple. “God, you’re giving me a headache.”

“You sure that’s me and not the penthouse suite the Queen of Hell just checked out of up there?” He responds instinctively, gesturing to her head. Before he has time to regret his insensitive phrasing, she snorts.

“Funny. No, I’m not sure. Headaches are the least of the symptoms, honestly.” She doesn’t seem to realize what she’s saying, but it has Seth rooted to the spot. He knew she was experiencing side effects from her death and possession (who wouldn’t), but he’d kept her at such a distance that he realizes he truly doesn’t know what she’s been going through. The river of his guilt grows wider.

He doesn’t say anything, just nods and returns to whatever he can to keep his hands busy. She looks back down at the manuscript in front of her. Since she’d been freed of Amaru, Kate had been able to read and translate ancient demonic languages better than the Lords themselves. When Richie had suggested that she go through some old culebra documents to make sure there were no other Hell traps - or Demon Queens held prisoner in blood wells - they were in danger of encountering, Kate had leapt at the chance to be helpful. 

Seth wasn’t so keen on the idea; anyone paying attention could tell that the activity worsened her post-possession trauma, but no one could hold off Kate when she was determined. It was one of the things Seth liked most about her.

After about an hour of surprisingly comfortable silence, Kate announces that she’s going to bed. Seth looks up from his _Alaskan_ pistol and, before he can stop himself, blurts, “But you haven’t -”

He cuts himself off with a half-hearted gesture, and is kind of shocked by his own outburst. He hadn’t even realized he expected her to pray, but her skipping her ritual as he sat with his barrel brush in hand had just felt… weird.

Kate still looks confused. “Haven’t what?”

Seth sighs, tries to laugh it off as he clarifies, “It’s just, you used to pray every night. It’s not - nevermind.”

When he meets Kate’s eyes there’s a curious look in them, one he can’t quite read. He’s struck again by how much she’s changed in the past year. When she speaks, it’s almost hesitant.

“Come on, Seth. I was possessed by the Queen of _Hell_ … And since when do _you_ advocate for prayer?"

Seth swallows, his inadvertent words having backed him into a corner. "I don’t. It’s just - even after all that shit that happened to us in Mexico, you still prayed. What, now that the darkness has happened directly to you it's too much?"

She looks a little stunned by his question. She responds with one of her own.

“Why is it so important to you that I believe?”

He’s not sure what makes him to do it, but before he really registers it, he’s moved to sit on the edge of her bed. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but for some reason it seems important that he say it.

"It's not." Kate lifts an eyebrow that is clearly meant to call bullshit, and it's such a _Kate_ look that it almost makes him smile. "It's not that I need you to believe or that I want you to. It's -" he shakes his head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

He begins to stand up but Kate reaches out as if to touch his arm. She stops short, but he doesn't move off the bed. "No it's not. What?"

He finally meets her eyes full on. It feels good to be honest with her again. He's tired of being afraid to hurt her.

"It's not about _believing_. Fuck, it’s not like _I_ think there’s anything out there. I just, I always...liked that you prayed. That you tried, even though you didn't know if it mattered.” He pauses, still caught in her gaze. “I liked that you cared enough to try." 

That’s it, he thinks. Kate’s praying had been like proof of her goodness, of humanity’s potential for goodness. Her faith had been stubborn even though God had proven himself unworthy of it. He thinks a small part of him had hoped it was proof that people could still have faith in _him_. 

"And I always thought you hated my praying," she says quietly, making an attempt at levity, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Well, as long as you don’t get all ‘born again’ on me. I’ve been threatened with Hell enough for one lifetime.”

She smirks at that, eyes pointed towards her lap. “Don’t I know it.” She pauses as her smile fades. When she looks back up at him, she looks more vulnerable than he’s seen her in a month. “I have tried, you know. To pray. But every time I close my eyes for too long… it’s like I’m looking through _her_ eyes.”

They both know who she’s talking about without clarification. It’s moments like these Seth wishes he could have sent that bitch back to Hell twice for what she’s done to his family.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. She doesn’t seem to hear him.

“But maybe if there’s someone else here, I could focus.” She seems to be talking to herself as much as to him. She’s almost absent-minded as she reaches out her hand to rest it on his forearm on the bed. He stares down at where they’re touching, unprepared for how enormous the small gesture feels. When he meets her eyes, she still looks uncertain. He knows it’s at the thought of praying, not at the touch that feels like it’s burning a hole through his arm.

“Can you just, sit here? For a minute?”

He nods. “Sure,” he gets out. “But as soon as you start speaking in tongues, I’m out.” Even he thinks the joke is a weak attempt to cover himself. He wants to help her, but finds he is totally unprepared for the rush of guilt and fear and joy that being so close to her, being trusted by her, brings. She gives him a small smile before she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the headboard, hand still on his arm.

Kate’s expression almost immediately is a familiar one of frustrated concentration, and it’s ridiculous how much it thrills him to see her back at it, arguing with God. Seth’s never prayed before in his life, and he thinks now probably isn’t the ideal time to start. He doesn’t really feel the need to, anyway. Kate’s hand on his arm grounds him despite the rush of emotion, and for the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel the need to escape. 

Something about the familiarity of her face and the newness of her hand on his arm makes him think that maybe El Rey isn’t a beach with Blue Agave after all. Maybe it’s just quiet moments like this: finding your way back to yourself with family by your side. And maybe, he thinks, as Kate’s hand slides farther down his arm until they’re hand in hand, maybe it’s better that way.


	4. Eat About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only meals she really had it in her to enjoy anymore were the meals she and Seth always ate together before a job. The first time they had one, only about two weeks after the Titty Twister, Kate at first didn’t understand why Seth was pulling into the parking lot of restaurant that looked a little pricey for their budget. He ignored her questioning glance as he led her inside. In fact, he avoided her eyes altogether until she sat down at the table across from him.
> 
> “What are we doing here?” She asked, a little scathingly, as he picked up a menu.
> 
> “It’s your first job tomorrow,” he said as he waved over the server. She wanted to roll her eyes - of course he was one of those people that snapped at waiters. “And I’m not one to fuck with tradition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been like a month but if anyone's still interested here's Seth and Kate going on dinner dates under the guise of planning felonies! 
> 
> Huge thanks as always to my wife and proofreader, Jade (Laughingsenselessly/Wellsjahasghost) <3

At home in Bethel, the Fuller family ate weekly dinners at their local Tex-Mex restaurant, and often, it was Kate’s favorite night of the week. When they dined under the multicolored lights of the vibrantly decorated Alejandra’s Cafe and her mother joked about the size of the jumbo margarita, they felt almost like a normal, happy family. Or at least it made it easier to pretend.

In any case, Mexican food no longer held quite the charm for her as it had then, though the authentic stuff her and Seth ate south of the border was unquestionably tastier than Alejandra’s chimichanga. It was more the repetition of the same flavors that had soured the cuisine for her, not to mention the fact that most of the time it was consumed in dirty motel rooms or stolen cars.

The only meals she really had it in her to enjoy anymore were the meals she and Seth always ate together before a job. The first time they had one, only about two weeks after the Titty Twister, Kate at first didn’t understand why Seth was pulling into the parking lot of restaurant that looked a little pricey for their budget. He ignored her questioning glance as he led her inside. In fact, he avoided her eyes altogether until she sat down at the table across from him.

“What are we doing here?” She asked, a little scathingly, as he picked up a menu.

“It’s your first job tomorrow,” he said as he waved over the server. She wanted to roll her eyes - of course he was one of those people that snapped at waiters. “And I’m not one to fuck with tradition.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She gave her order to the awkward-looking adolescent with the crooked nametag reading “Juan” when he turned to her after taking Seth’s order - a steak burrito - then turned her attention back to Seth. He looked uncharacteristically unsure, like he didn’t want to explain any further. She raised her eyebrows to urge him on.

“It’s an old tradition from Uncle Eddie. Before a job, you eat about it. So everyone’s on the same page,” he met her eyes, hesitant. “Ri - We do it before every job.” He seemed relieved to have spit it out, but she couldn’t help but notice his inability to say his brother’s name. She knew the feeling. Scott’s slitted, glowing eyes still haunted her nightmares.

“So, it’s like the Last Supper?” She asked.

Seth snorted. “Not quite. Not unless the man upstairs likes to pull down scores. Besides, it doesn’t have to be the last meal before a job. Just a meal. Where you hash things out.”

She nodded, and tried not to feel touched that he’d share this tradition with her. It wasn’t about her, she told herself; he simply seemed to be one for superstition, despite his distaste for the supernatural.

“So… what do we have to ‘hash out?’”

“You saw the currency exchange place I pointed out, right? That’s the mark. It’s a simple in-and-out job. Hold up the clerk, empty the cash coffer, bada bing bada boom, we’re sitting pretty with a nice $10k+ bonus.”

“But what if there are people inside? Or cameras? What if the clerk has a gun?” She lowered her voice. “Seems like the kinda thing they have on hand around here.” The dusty town they’d rolled into wasn’t exactly suburban paradise.

Seth was looking at her oddly, like he was surprised by her curiosity. “You really want to know the specifics? Of an armed robbery?”

She bristled a little at his implication, like she was too good or to delicate to handle it. Her delicacy had gone out the window the moment she’d revved that chainsaw, she thought. “Well I boarded this train, didn’t I? I want to know the details. Let’s… ‘hash it out.’”

Seth gave a short nod, with a look Kate thought might be grudging respect, before reaching down to cut into his burrito, which had just been deposited in front of him with a semi-frightened look from Juan (the handgun shoved into Seth’s waistband was prominent, after all). 

After taking a sip of his horchata (he seemed oddly fond of that milky drink, was always ordering it with his meals), Seth leaned forward, and they began to plan.

***

The meals become commonplace after that. At some point in the casing process, they grab dinner at a restaurant of only marginally higher quality than their usual take out. Even the small difference feels special though, in the way that any break from their depressingly monotonous schedule is welcome.

Since most of the concrete details are worked out on paper in whatever motel room they currently inhabit, the dinners have a more meandering, abstract quality. And sometimes the conversation wanders in a way it doesn’t when it’s just the two of them in the motel room, cloaked in their own demons.

One day, for instance, after almost 2 months on the road, Seth and Kate decide to eat about their new job at the creatively named La Cocina. And during the meal, Kate finally comments on a disturbing trend she’s noticed in Seth’s eating habits.

“You sure you have enough salt on your steak, there?” She asks, eying the hand that is generously seasoning his ribeye. Seth almost always orders some variety of steak on their job dinners, and he never fails to douse it in salt.

He looks unimpressed at her question. “It enhances the flavor.”

“Enhances your chances of hypertension, you mean,” she shoots back.

“Pretty sure snake vampires and people juicers did that already.” When she shoots him her own unimpressed look, he adds with a smug, shit-eating grin, “You worried about me, Kate?”

“No. Just your sodium intake.” She keeps the smile off her face, but the truth is, she likes bantering with Seth like this. It’s infinitely better than when he responds to her barbs with moody silence, or worse yet, by reaching for his needle.

“I’ve always eaten it this way. At least I don’t drown it in hot sauce like Richie.” He doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said until he’s said it. His smile fades and his mouth slams shut.

Kate bites her lip, trying to decide what to say. She knows what his reaction usually is when she brings up Richie - namely terrible - but she also wants to encourage Seth to remember his brother. It’s been two months, after all. She knows they’re going to need to face the reality of what their brothers are sooner or later.

“I’m sure he feels the same way about the salt,” she starts off tentatively, watching Seth stab moodily as his steak with a fork. “Siblings are weird like that. Even though we were raised together Scott adopted all kinds of different habits. The Christian rock music obsession, for one.”

“Richard hates Christian rock music.” Seth’s response sounds like it’s been pulled out of him. It’s progress, though, and Kate tries to push her advantage.

“Well I doubt he’s encountering a lot of that where he is now. Or who knows, maybe Culebras have a thing for -”

“Don’t,” Seth’s sharp voice cuts her off, and he points his fork at her accusingly. “I know what you’re trying to do. Drop it.”

Kate sighs. “I just think that if you talked about him - them - more, maybe you’d come around…” She can already sense her defeat. The word “culebra” is almost a trigger for him, his rejection of the topic as stubborn as ever.

“There’s no coming around to that shit, Kate. I told you, they’re as good as dead. Besides, that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

Kate nods and sits back in her chair, trying to stifle her frustration. Every day with Seth feels like one step forward, two steps back. She barely manages to keep the bitterness out of her voice when she steers the conversation back to safer territory.

“Right, I forgot. We’re here to talk about knocking over that pawn shop. Please, wow me with the details.”

Seth only looks a little cowed as he tips back his Tecate for a sip and launches into the job.

*** 3 months post-Titty Twister ***

“I don’t know if I like this, Seth. There could be up to 8 tellers in there at that time of night. You going to be able to keep an eye on all of them?” The fluorescent lighting of the diner they’ve chosen this time makes the circles under Seth’s eyes even more pronounced. He’s been getting high with greater frequency lately, and Kate’s frustration is starting to get the better of her worry. She’s resigned herself to his habit as a coping mechanism, but she’s not about to let it affect a job.

Seth brushes aside her concern. “If we want to max out this hit we have to wait till close of business.” He has a glint in his eye when he meets her gaze over his steak fajita. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

“I’m just saying, I could do more than drive the getaway car. If the cops get called there’s nowhere for us to go.” She reaches over to steal a sip of his horchata, provoking a dirty look from Seth. “I’m tired of screw-ups and jobs that barely pay enough for a churro. We need passports. This has to work.”

Seth, perhaps nearing exasperation at her insistent questioning, puts down his fork and leans forward, meeting her eyes and taking on the air of someone speaking to a spooked animal. “Kate, these small-time clerks are going to hand over twice the amount we need as soon as they so much as glimpse a barrel pointed in their direction. And after they do, I’m going to stroll out of there like Paul Newman, you’ll be waiting in the car, and we’ll drive away like we got a free toaster. Comprende?”

Kate holds back her eyeroll with difficulty, but it’s hard not to go along with Seth when he’s playful like this. Besides, It allows her to ignore the constant feeling she’s had recently that she’s driving a car that’s about to go off a cliff. That feeling like she’s bracing for an inevitable crash.

“Okay,” She relents as Seth signals for the waitress. He orders them dessert, remembering to include the details of exactly how she likes her sopaipilla. Something about the familiarity with which he rattles off her favorite dessert without prompting makes her heart sink into her stomach. She shoves aside the feeling. These meals are one of the only enjoyable parts of their routine, and she’s not about to let her free-floating anxiety ruin it. 

When Seth turns back to face her, she’s arranged her features back into annoyed indulgence.

“So, have you checked out the market down the street from the motel? There are lots of cool booths, mostly run by the locals. We could try to sniff around there for someone who does counterfeit papers.”

Seth shakes his head, “I’m not really a carnival kind of guy. Besides, I already have a lead on a tattoo place that specializes in more than one type of ink.” He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully. “I’ve been meaning to finish this off, anyway.” He shrugs his shoulder to indicate the flame tattoo that winds up his arm.

She bites back a comment about how it looks finished to her, about how it’s only “unfinished” now that he needs something to cover the bite mark on his neck, because he’s not doing a good enough job of pretending it doesn’t exist on his own. Instead she says, “I saw one booth that had some interesting art….some paintings of ‘La Diosa.’”

Seth’s head whips up at the mention, and she knows immediately she shouldn’t have gone there. If she’s being honest, she knew before she even said it - his reaction is always the same. She just can’t help the small part of her that wants him on her team for this, that wants him to join her in reality.

Seth’s gaze is icy - or maybe fiery is a better description, matching the flames that lick up his arm. Even angry, Seth can’t do cold. There’s a certain intensity, an energy about him that could never pull off the stillness of ice. No, he’s all fire.

“And why the fuck would I care about that?” He asks her, jaw locked like it is when he’s challenging her, or when she challenges him. She honestly can’t tell the difference anymore.

She matches his glare. “I don’t know, maybe because you’ve finally decided to face reality.” Before he can respond, she continues, “And if there’s culebras behind the market, it’s possible there’ll be centuries’ worth of cash piled somewhere too.”

Seth’s posture relaxes minutely at her words. 

“Just something to think about,” she finishes coolly. Unlike Seth, Kate can pull off cold.

They sit quietly at a stalemate as the harried waitress delivers their dessert, Kate’s sopaipilla with cinnamon and powdered sugar only, no syrup. She thaws despite herself.

“Besides, it wouldn’t kill you to get out once in awhile. You know, have fun.” She says it in the manner of someone speaking to a child.

She glimpses the humor curling behind Seth’s eyes when he responds, “What do you call this?” He gestures to the their table and the restaurant around them. “How much more fun could a guy handle?”

Kate snorts, and immediately finds it pathetic that this is funny to her. He’s right, these dinner dates are the most ‘fun’ they ever have. Compared to robbing banks and avoiding law enforcement, they’re downright festive.

She picks up her untouched cola and clinks it against his horchata, and even she can’t tell if she’s being ironic when she says, “Here’s to ‘getting out and having fun,’ then.”

There’s something fond in Seth’s eyes when he responds, “Cheers,” and sips his drink. For what feels like the millionth time this evening, Kate shoves down the feeling of looming dread, of losing something that’s right in front of her.

“Cheers,” she repeats quietly. 

Seth doesn’t notice when she places her drink back on the table, untouched.


	5. Kate Fuller is Not a Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, it doesn’t really occur to Seth that once he stops just seeing Kate as a scared kid, he could start to see her as… other things.
> 
> The first time it happens, she’s wearing his shirt. In what was perhaps a bit of an oversight, neither of them had really considered that taking off on an apparently never-ending Mexican crime spree with only the clothes on their back meant that they literally had only that - the clothes on their back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo...I'm back! It's literally been 10 months but I fell back into the Sethkate dumpster upon my FDTD rewatch so here we are.
> 
> So like 10 million years ago Mel (@caramelle) asked for a chapter about Seth realizing he was attracted to Kate. That's where the inspiration for this chapter came from, though my boner for angst shines through. Mostly, this chapter was a way for me to explore the possible background of that one scene in 2x01 where Seth gets right in her face and the audience is like *damn* well THIS relationship has changed...yall know the scene I'm talkin about. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the extended hiatus but if any FDTD even exist out there any more I hope you enjoy!

Seth Gecko doesn't remember the exact moment he stopped thinking of Kate Fuller as a kid. 

He thinks maybe it was when he found her waiting for him outside the Titty Twister, having turned down the opportunity to run back to Bethel and pretend nothing that had happened was real. 

Or maybe it was when the night manager at the third seedy motel they'd stayed at tried to grope her from behind as they walked to their room and before Seth could even blink the short man was pressed up against the side of the building with a sharp stake pressed to chest, startled fear in his eyes. 

Or maybe it was the moment he realized that she had taken to planning and pulling jobs like it wasn't something she'd just learned - like she'd had a mature, hardened criminal hidden inside that small body of hers her whole life.

Seth may not remember the exact moment that it happened, but it did. Kate Fuller is not a kid. 

In fact, he becomes more painfully aware by the day of how much more maturely she is handling their situation than he is. Which just compounds his guilt, because, if he's honest with himself, there's no real reason for her to stay. She'd probably be better off without him. Which means she's only staying out of pity. Or maybe she's still scared to leave him even though she knows she could make it on her own. If he were a better man, a good man, he'd tell her to leave. He'd set her free. 

Luckily, Seth Gecko has never been a Good Man. 

***

Unfortunately, it doesn’t really occur to Seth that once he stops just seeing Kate as a scared kid, he could start to see her as… other things.

The first time it happens, she’s wearing his shirt. In what was perhaps a bit of an oversight, neither of them had really considered that taking off on an apparently never-ending Mexican crime spree with only the clothes on their back meant that they literally had only that - the clothes on their back. 

For the first couple of weeks, when they are mostly on the run and not in any kind of emotional shape to do much more than survive and move from motel to motel, they make do. 

Kate washes her clothes in the laundry, waiting for them to be done in a robe. Seth mostly just washes his in the bathroom sink. They pick up some necessities along the way, but neither of them can really be much bothered to go shopping for additional outfits. Until, a night several weeks after the Titty Twister, the need for additional clothing is brought suddenly and jarringly to Seth’s attention.

The night it is, Seth returns early from scouting a mark - a popular cash-only taco joint - and he realizes he doesn’t have his room key with him. Knowing Kate is likely still up, he knocks briskly on the door. The rusted numbers “118” pinned at eye level shake and look precariously close to sliding off. This place is such an ancient dump that there aren’t even peep holes in the doors. 

The door opens a crack and he hears Kate’s hesitant voice on the other side. “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Open the door. Who else would it be -” He stops short when she opens the door fully with a look of relief on her face, and he sees what she’s wearing. And also not wearing - namely, pants. 

What she is wearing, however, is his white collared shirt, her hair still pinned under the collar and the buttons only half done up as if she’d pulled it on haphazardly only moments ago. She pulls him inside and bolts the door behind him, setting his pistol back on the window from where she apparently picked it up. She doesn’t seem to notice the frozen expression on his face.

“Thank God, I thought it was that creepy concierge. He seems like the type to come around…” She trails off when she sees the look of what he assumes is… mortification? Awe? On his face. She looks down, appearing to suddenly remember that she’s clad in nothing but his white button-up, which he’d ditched tonight in favor of just the wife beater and jacket.

“What… are you wearing?” Seth hisses, trying to sound more annoyed than breathless. The shirt barely reaches her mid-thigh, and it takes an absurd effort not to let his mind wander up the line of her leg to her hip to… the rest of her. In his shirt. “That’s my shirt,” he adds, quite unnecessarily.

When she looks back up and meets his eye, she looks defensive but her face is red. “I’m washing my clothes and someone knocked! Did you want me to just throw it open naked?”

Seth doesn’t splutter, but it’s a close thing. “I... _obviously_ not, but you should - we should - we’re going shopping tomorrow. These pants are chaffing me weird anyway.”

“Yes, it really seems like _chaffing’s_ the problem.” Kate at least has the decency to try and hide her smile at his outburst, but her amusement at his distress is clear. 

Surprising himself, he finds he likes her bitten back smile better than their normal animosity-laced banter, so he lets it slide. Still, the sight of her smile and his shirt and her… legs is a little too much to handle, so he turns away from her and her insufficient clothing and smart mouth to head to the shower. He has a feeling it’s going to be a cold one.

“Hilarious,” he throws over his shoulder.

Later, when he exits the bathroom, his shirt is neatly folded in the center of his bed next to his still-loaded pistol. 

***

After the night with his shirt, Seth shoves the image and its accompanying thoughts so deep down in his mind that he thinks he'd have to unearth two tons of emotional baggage to get to it again. And his energy these days is too busy being spent hating himself and everything around him to bother digging it up again. 

Eventually, the heroin helps too. It steals the wanting. It takes the edge off the entire world. A softness descends in the wake of his highs, a haze that feels like the only thing that makes anything about his life bearable.

Kate is still beautiful when seen through the softness, inside and out, but it's different from the sharp sober pang of her red-bitten lips when she tells him off, or the sensory memory of her shoulder brushing his in the bathroom, or her hands gentle but sure on his neck, sending something more than anticipation sparking through his veins.

So the drugs help, and most of the time Seth thinks he successfully represses any inappropriate thoughts he has about Kate. Besides, it's always easy to put his protective instinct for her first. That feeling had come naturally since the first time he'd met her, and he thinks it might always precede any other feelings he has for her. Like admiration, or affection. Like attraction.

But sometimes, in the moments he's most ashamed of, in the moments when the drug is gone from his veins and the world feels turned up and her voice is too loud and her hair is too shiny and her jeans are too tight, he uses his attraction against her. 

At least, he feels like he's using it against her. But it's not like she ever backs down, or calls him out. Whenever he escalates she just - meets him. And the feeling is dangerous and exhilarating and addicting, but in a different way than the heroin is. In a way that doesn’t at all feel like escaping.

It happens most often right after a job, when he’s at his soberest and most desperate for a high. At first he thinks it’s a coincidence that it’s those moments that she traps him in her gaze, that she crowds his space or at least won’t relent when he crowds hers. But it’s not long before he realizes that it’s another tactic to keep him from the drug. 

Kate had given up on talking him out of it early on. She clearly knew he was too pigheaded to listen, and in the earlier days he thinks she just wasn’t comfortable enough to really try to stop him. But now, he knows it’s not just his imagination that she’s more physically present right before his highs. She’s taken to standing in front of or near his stash, challenging him to take it, making it so he has to get right up in her space to do it.

One night, when he reaches for the needle, she grabs his hand instead. Her sudden touch is hot and startling, for all that they normally keep their distance from each other. For a second it makes the flames that lick up his arm feel real. 

“Do you really need it?” She asks. She sounds almost like she’s trying to understand. It had been a good day - the job had gone off without a hitch and they’d even stopped for take out on their way back to the motel. She seemed more tired than angry when he inevitably reached for the drug.

“Yes,” he answers, swallowing his shame, eyes still on the small black pouch. When she doesn’t release his hand, he forces himself to meet her gaze.

It’s a sweet kind of torture, making him deal with the reality of her - her eyes, her judgment, her body - when what he’s reaching for is oblivion. It feels like too much when he wants nothing, like being exposed when what he wants most is to hide. But Kate never lets him hide.

“Are you ever going to get tired of running?” He knows she’s not talking about their desert road trip, or the police that are after him. He doesn’t have an answer for her, but he prefers anger in her eyes over pity and exhaustion. 

Gesturing to himself, he says, “Sacred Heart Academy, track and field team, all-American. But I’ll let you know.” He curls his lips at her in an imitation of a smile when her eyes harden into anger. 

She lets go of his wrist but doesn’t move from where she sits at the table, forcing him to reach past her for the pouch. He comes close enough that his breath stirs her hair. His eyes stay locked on hers.

He wonders if she knows the impact her closeness has on him, in these moments. He wonders if she also feels as if the heat from the desert sun seems suddenly concentrated solely in the space between them. 

He mostly thinks she doesn’t, but then he remembers his white shirt folded cheekily on his bed. 

He plucks the needle off the table and turns away, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret.

***

So really, Seth can't quite pinpoint the moment when Kate Fuller was no longer just a kid. It wasn’t at the Titty Twister or in the hallway outside their motel room or in his shirt or sitting next to him in the car, smiling at him over the console. No, it wasn’t one moment or one revelation because she was never one thing to him. She was never just a kid or just a woman or just a friend. 

She was his victim, and his family. He ruined her life. He ruined her life and killed her family and she repaid him by becoming his family, by becoming the only person he has left in the world. When he really thinks about it - which is rare - he aches with the weight of what he’s taken from her. Her innocence. Her family. Her future. 

So even when she was no longer just a kid, when he began to see her as a partner, an equal - the weight of the debt he owed her remained lodged deep in his gut, pulling him away from her, pushing him back in.

Ultimately, the one thing he refuses to take from her is her goodness. So he convinces himself that, maybe, somehow, if he protects her, he might manage to not poison the only good thing left in his life. 

In the end, that’s why he leaves her, too. Because Kate Fuller is not a child, and she can take care of herself. And she can do it better without him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @wellamyblake


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